


Everyone Loves a Mystery

by Tuttle4077



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuttle4077/pseuds/Tuttle4077
Summary: In order to get important information from the Underground, Hogan and his team must first solve the murder of eleven people, two pigs, and a canary!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	1. The Book

Colonel Klink stood on the steps on the Kommandantur, bouncing slightly on his heels. At the gate, he could see the Red Cross truck waiting for permission to enter. The prisoners had formed a crowd in the compound, chatting excitedly in anticipation for a new shipment of Red Cross packages. Klink was there to make sure the packages were unloaded and distributed fairly. And if some contents on those packages somehow made it into his personal safe, well that was simply to compensate him for his efforts.

The truck finally drove into the compound and was immediately mobbed by the prisoners.

"Hold it, hold it!" Klink cried as he launched off the steps and marched towards the ruckus. "Everyone back away, back away! Schultz!"

Schultz pushed his way through the prisoners, hollering at them to back away.

"All right fellas, back off." It was Colonel Hogan, strolling up with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. Klink had to wonder how Hogan has made it as far as he had in the army with such terrible posture. He wouldn't last a week in the German army.

The prisoners obediently moved away and patiently waited as the guards unloaded the packages. With a bounce in his step, Hogan made his way up to Klink.

"Whaddaya say we just divvy them out here, Kommandant?" Hogan suggested amiably.

"Colonel Hogan, your men will get their packages as soon as my men have a chance to inspect the contents. We go through this every week."

"We wouldn't have to if your men didn't pilfer through them every time."

Klink drew back and scoffed, feigning offense. "Colonel Hogan, I have never heard anything so insulting in my life! And I will not stand for that level of disrespect! Schultz, disperse the prisoners and send them to their barracks!" At his order, Schultz fired off a salute and Klink gave Hogan a smug look. Hogan grimaced but turned on his heel without a word and stalked off. Klink had a feeling it was a temporary victory, but he would take it.

"Herr Kommandant," Schultz said a while later, offering Klink a salute. "The parcels have been _unloaded_ from the truck and _loaded_ into the recreation hut. My men will search them _thoroughly_ for any signs of contraband and we will most certainly find the items you have requested!" Schultz pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He held it at varying distances from his face, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read it. "Butter, cheese, canned salmon-"

"Yes, yes, Schultz, never mind that, just get on with it," Klink said impatiently.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz turned on his heel, but then turned back. "Also, Kommandant, there is another crate in the truck, full of sports equipment and books."

"Very good, Schultz," Klink said. "Once you're done, you can distribute the packages to the prisoners."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz repeated. This time he turned on his heel and marched off towards the rec hall.

Three hours later, Klink was sitting at his desk, pouring over paperwork. It never ended.

He heard Hilda giggle from the other side of the door. He knew what that meant, but before he could prepare himself, the door swung open and Hogan marched in. Klink rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Now what, Colonel Hogan? Can't you see I'm very busy? Paperwork!"

"You have my sympathies, sir," Hogan said in a very unsympathetic voice. "But I'm here to lodge a formal complaint."

"A formal complaint?" Klink echoed. "About what?"

"Your men still haven't delivered our parcels. It usually only takes them an hour to pilfer through them which means you're taking a bigger cut than usual. Now we can overlook a missing tin of butter every once in a while but-"

Klink stood up and smacked his desk, cutting Hogan off. "Colonel Hogan, those are very serious accusations. Very serious." But, more than that, Hogan was right. It usually only took Schultz and his crew an hour to go through those parcels. Two, tops. What was the hold up?

"Exactly!"

"Colonel Hogan," Klink said calmly, trying to smooth the American's ruffled feathers, "I assure you, I have never-"

"Kommandant," Hogan interrupted, giving him an incredulous look.

"Fine. But you're right: something must be holding up the inspection. I will see what the matter is myself."

"I'll go with you."

Klink grunted his indifference. He didn't need Hogan standing over his shoulder, but he also wasn't in the mood to argue. Together, he and Hogan left the office and made their way to the rec hall. Inside, they found Schultz sitting on a bench, book in hand while the other guards were crowded around him, hanging on his every word.

"Ser-" Klink began, but Hogan held up his hand, cutting him off. Klink was about to protest, but instead found himself tuning into what Schultz was saying and, with Hogan, drawing closer.

" _As the wind howled through the stately old elms, Jessica's heart ached with longing for the young Randolph,"_ Schultz said, reading earnestly from the book. _"She could best be described as a prized thoroughbred: swift, hot-blooded, and highly responsive to the whip! And, yet, Randolph was her equal- a raging stallion. To call him merely virile would be to damn with faint praise._

_"Jessica remembered that exciting interlude in his garden when he suddenly appeared through the hedge."_

_'Wench, you make my blood b-"_

"Schultz!" Klink interrupted quickly, feeling himself getting a little too interested in what he was hearing. "What is this?"

Schultz and the other guards jumped up, looking like children who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. Schultz fumbled with the book and quickly saluted. "Herr Kommandant, I did not see you there!"

"Obviously not," Klink said dryly. "Now, what is that degenerate book you're reading?"

"Yeah!" Hogan said eagerly as he tried to peek over Schultz's shoulder for a better look. "What degenerate book _are_ you reading?"

"Oh, uh." Schultz flipped over the book and peered at it. "Uh, it is _The Rooster Crowed at Midnight, another brain-teasing, spine-chilling whodunit from the prize-winning pen of Abigail Porterfield_ ," he read.

"A book?" Hogan said. "A real live book? Say, are there any pictures in there?" Hogan reached over to grab the book, but Klink smacked his hand with his riding crop. Surprised, Hogan pulled his hand away and shook it.

"Ouch! Kommandant, physical abuse of a prisoner of war is against the Geneva Convention," he whined.

"Hogan, don't touch that book. Schultz, pass it to me," he said, holding out his hand. "I think I must investigate the contents of this book before it's passed on to the prisoners."

"Hey!" Hogan cried. "Colonel I protest! You're already taking our butter and cheese, the least you can do-"

"Now what makes you think I would take your food, Hogan?"

Hogan gave him a look of disbelief before marching to a table and throwing his hands out towards a box clearly labeled 'Kommandant Klink.' Inside were several tins of food.

"Well… that…" Klink stammered.

"Kommandant, I'm willing to overlook it this time if you just give us the book," Hogan said.

Klink stamped his foot. "Hogan, you are in no position to-"

"Oooor," Hogan continued in a sing-song voice, "I can go to General Burkhalter. Let him know that you're taking more than he knows and that you've been skimping him."

Klink made a few noises of protest, but finally just threw his hands up in defeat. "All right, take the book."

"Very generous of you, sir," Hogan said. He held his hand out and Schultz passed him the book. The American tucked it into his pocket and then tipped his hat at Klink. "And don't forget, we're still waiting on those packages. Any longer and the peasants might revolt."

"You'll get them, you'll get them," Klink said sourly.

Once Hogan left, Klink scooped up his box and trudged back to his office and his paperwork.

* * *

"Oh it's about bloody time!"

From his seat at the common room table, Hogan looked up from his book and tilted his head. "Problem, Newkirk?" he asked quizzically.

"Oh, nothing, sir," Newkirk said drolly. "Except it took you six blooming minutes and three decks of cards to finish that page."

"I think he's taunting us," Kinch added irritably from his bunk.

"Boy, you'd think an officer would read faster," Carter said with a hint of disapproval.

"Oui. And if not, he could at least have the decency to read it somewhere else!" LeBeau scowled.

Keeping his finger between the pages, Hogan closed the book and looked over at his men. "What's this all about?" he asked.

"What this is about is that that is the first _real_ book we've seen in a donkey's ear," Newkirk explained. "An honest to goodness book meant for reading- no codes, no secret information- just a book!"

"And you're hogging it," Kinch said.

Hogan was unimpressed with their outrage. "Rank has its privileges," he simply stated.

"Oh sure. But with the time it takes you to read, the murderer would've escaped to Switzerland by now!" Kinch replied. "What page are you even on?"

"Twenty-one," Hogan replied.

"Oh, forget Switzerland," Newkirk said dryly. "He's halfway to Venezuela, he is."

"You're really worked up over this, aren't you?" Hogan said, feeling slightly amused now.

"Well wouldn't you be, boy? Uh, sir," Carter said. "Gosh, I've never seen someone read so slowly."

"That's because I'm not reading, I'm _savouring_ ," Hogan explained.

"Well savour faster," LeBeau sneered.

"This from a gourmet chef?" Hogan said with a tsk. "I thought it's your life goal to have people savour the finer things in life."

"Food, not books," LeBeau said dangerously.

Hogan frowned. He couldn't exactly blame his men for being peeved. Most of the books in their library were textbooks or poetry. The few novels they had been read a hundred times over. And none promised to be as exciting as this one.

"All right… Here." Hogan tore out several pages and handed them to Kinch. "Have at 'er."

Kinch lit up and eagerly accepted the pages. "Thanks, Colonel!" He nestled into his bunk and snapped the pages. "Reading!" he tittered in an uncharacteristic display of excitement. "This might be better than se… well, you know."

Newkirk raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously. "We do? Better than what, Kinch?" he pressed.

"Yeah, better than what?" Carter echoed, but in a much more innocent tone.

" _Never mind_ ," Kinch said, shooting Newkirk an irritated look.

"How do you like that," LeBeau said, amused. "Kinch has been holding out on us."

"Do you have any stories you want to share with the class, Kinch?" Newkirk asked. Kinch stayed quiet, focusing instead on the pages.

"Hey, yeah, why don't you read it aloud," Carer suggested.

"That's not what they-" Hogan started, but then dropped it, going back to page twenty-one.

"All right," Kinch said, latching onto Carter's idea. "Let's see:

" _The Rooster Crowed at Midnight, Chapter One._

_"A sleepy spaniel ambled across the lawn past a gardener dozing on his rake."_

Hogan again lowered his book. Despite having already read it, he found himself drawn in by Kinch's smooth voice. "Say, that's it," he said.

"What's it, Colonel," Kinch asked curiously, looking away from the pages.

"You are all complaining that you have to wait to read it, why don't we read it aloud together. Over the camp speakers!"

"Good idea, Colonel," Carter said brightly. "But do you think Klink will let us?"

"Ah," Hogan said, batting the question aside. "Shouldn't be hard to convince him. I _know_ I won't get any pushback from Schultz."

"I'm game, so long as Kinch does the reading," Newkirk said. "The war's liable to be over before you get through it, what with all your 'savouring'."

Hogan scrunched his nose at the jab. "Careful, Newkirk, you wouldn't want to find yourself in the cooler and miss out."

"Me? The cooler?" Newkirk said, feigning innocence. "Oh I've never done anything in my life to be sent there, unless it were by your orders, sir."

"Exactly."

"On second thought, Colonel," Newkirk said quickly, "I think you ought to do the reading."

"Never mind. Kinch it is. I'll pitch the idea to Klink now." Hogan got up and was about to put the book down but, when he saw his men tense and lean forward every so slightly as if ready to pounce, he thought better of it and tucked the book inside his jacket.

* * *

"You want to read your book over the PA system?" Klink repeated skeptically.

"I think that's the only fair way to do it, Colonel," Hogan replied. "I tried reading the book myself and my men were chomping at the bit waiting for me to turn each page. I was afraid they were going to start a riot!"

"It seems to me," Klink replied, "that the simple solution would be to just confiscate the book entirely."

"Then you'd _really_ have an uprising on your hands. Maybe even a few escapes."

Klink smacked his desk. "Impossible. No one escapes Stalag 13."

"There's a first time for everything," Hogan said with a shrug.

Klink pointed an accusing finger at him. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not at all, sir. I'm just stating the facts. And the facts are these men have been pushed past their mental limits. Dangling something like this just outside their reach is sure to make them snap! You've got to throw them a bone every once in a while or there'll be chaos."

"I suppose you're right, Hogan," Klink conceded. He wrung his hands in frustration. "Oh you have no idea how hard it is to maintain such a delicate balance. To keep your prisoners cowed, but not so much that they lose their senses completely and do something foolish!"

"It's a real trial, sir," Hogan said dryly. "So do we have your permission?"

"I suppose so," Klink said. "But, of course, I will supervise you while you read to make sure you don't use the system inappropriately."

"Of course."

"Oh, and you will not be able to use it Friday," Klink added.

Hogan tilted his head curiously. "Why not?"

"I won't be here," Klink explained. Then he puffed out his chest while a stupid grin pulled on his lips. "I have a date in town."

Hogan snapped his fingers. "Right. I forgot about that." One of their underground contacts had wooed Klink last week. The date was merely a ruse- a way for her to smuggle information into camp, using Klink as her carrier pigeon.

Klink paused and then pegged Hogan with a suspicious look. "What do you mean, you forgot about that?"

Hogan scoffed. "Well you've been bragging about it all week."

"I have?" Klink repeated.

"Sure. Now what was her name? Lisa, Elsa-"

"Leisl. Leisl Welser."

Hogan shook his finger. "Right, that's it. Well, don't worry, Kommandant; I'm sure Kinch will get through it before Friday."

* * *

Friday night came sooner than expected. Despite Hogan's prediction, they hadn't finished the book yet. An anxious energy hung over the camp as everyone waited in anticipation for the final pages that would unravel the mystery of the Huntley Manor. More than once, Newkirk had tried to pinch the book off Hogan in order to read ahead. Even Colonel Klink himself was hooked, hanging on every word and even delaying roll calls so Kinch could read an extra chapter or two.

But it was no use. They would just have to sit tight and wait another day. Klink was going out tonight and he, being as invested in the story as everyone else, had forbade them from continuing until Saturday.

"Why don't I just act surprised when I read the ending," Kinch suggested. "Klink will never know. I'm willing to bet none of the guards will tell."

"Nah," Hogan said dismissively. "You can't fake the kind of surprise that comes after this much buildup."

"I don't know, sir," Newkirk drawled as he lit yet another cigarette. "You don't get into the spy business by being a bad actor."

"True, but-"

Hogan was cut off by the barracks door flying open. Suddenly alert, he jumped to his feet, expecting the worst.

It was only Klink.

Hogan checked his watch and frowned. Klink should have left ten minutes ago. What was going on?

Klink stormed into the room and smacked his riding crop on the table. "Colonel Hogan, Sergeant Kinchloe!" he cried.

Named prisoners exchanged a confused look. "Sir?"

"Why aren't you in my office?"

"Your office?" Hogan repeated. "Why would we be there?"

Klink scoffed and looked at Hogan as if he were an idiot. "For the conclusion of _The Rooster Crowed at Midnight_!"

"But... I thought… What about your date?" Hogan asked.

"Hang my date!" Klink cried. "Women come and go, but a mystery such as this can't wait!"

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts! Sergeant Kinchloe, you can either come to my office quietly, or by force!"

"Well, in that case," Kinch said slowly as he got up from his bunk, "I guess I don't have a choice. After you, Colonel."

Hogan grimaced. Sure they were all invested in the book, but he didn't think Klink would call off his date for it. It occurred to him that, with Klink occupied, he could sneak out and meet Leisl himself. Unfortunately, the Gestapo had recently doubled their presence in town and their patrols in the woods. He couldn't take the risk that he would be recognized and/or questioned. And to make things worse, they had radio detection trucks in the area, so they couldn't even contact the underground via radio.

No, it was Klink or bust.

"You're really into this, huh Colonel?" Hogan said as they marched across the compound.

"Oh, Hogan, I have not been this thrilled by a book in years!" Klink replied.

"Yeah, but to cancel a date with a beautiful woman…"

"How did you know she was beautiful?" Klink asked with a hint of suspicion.

"What _other_ kind of woman would be interested in you?" Hogan replied.

Klink smirked. "True. But don't worry. I have already called her to reschedule for tomorrow. And, as this book has demonstrated, anticipation can be intoxicating!"

It was hard to argue with that. And despite the importance of the information Leisl had, Hogan wasn't too distraught about the postponement. Waiting an extra day for information was easier to endure than putting off the ending of the mystery novel.

It wasn't long until Hogan was sucked into the story, Leisl, the underground, and the information forgotten. Right now, he was in Southampton, on the moors around Huntley Manor, desperately unravelling a murder mystery that had turned the peaceful English countryside into a horror show. He was completely immersed in the story and its characters. He was Randolph sharing a moment of passion with Jessica in the moonlight; he was Lady Penelope, the woman scorned plotting revenge; he was Avery Updike, the bitter step-son holding a grudge; he was Homer Butterfield, the bumbling old reverend hiding a dark past. And he was Inspector Langley, the genius detective who would finally expose all their secrets.

 _"A hush fell over the drawing room,"_ Kinch read breathlessly _, "as Inspector Langley casually lit his pipe and announced, 'I can now disclose the identity of the murderer. The killer's name is…'"_

"Yes?" Klink pressed when Kinch paused for just a second too long.

"Yes?!" Hogan urged when the silence lengthened. He was all about building anticipation, but this was ridiculous.

Kinch looked at them, mouth agape. "Colonel… Colonel!"

"What? Who was it?! Was it Jessica? Butterfield? Who, Kinch, who?!"

Kinch held up the book in shock. "Colonel… the last page... it's missing!"


	2. The Mystery

To say it was pandemonium would be an understatement. Even from Colonel Klink's office, they could hear the cries of surprise, disappointment, and anger from every barracks join together. It was clear prisoners throughout the camp were ready to riot.

"What do you mean, it's missing?" Klink demanded.

Kinch passed him the book. Klink snatched it away from him and flipped through it. "Just what I said- missing."

"All right, let's not panic," Hogan said quickly, his mind whirling. "We can figure this out."

"Of course we can," Klink said confidently. Then he deflated slightly. "Can't we?"

"Sure, I had it figured out forty pages ago," Hogan replied.

"All right, Sherlock, then whodunit?" Kinch asked, sounding skeptical.

"Easy," Hogan said before grabbing the microphone from Kinch. "It was… the Reverend Homer Butterfield!"

"C'mon," Kinch scoffed.

"But how do you know?" Klink asked, dumbfounded.

"He's not a real reverend," Hogan explained. "Don't you remember how confused he became on scriptures the day of the foxhunt?"

"That was after he fell off the horse," Kinch pointed out. "And besides, he's nearly ninety."

"Haha," Hogan said, twirling his finger in the air, "he _says_ he's ninety! But can you expect the truth from a madman who's already killed eleven people, two pigs, and a canary?!"

Beside him, Klink nodded sagely, stroking his chin. "That's true." Then he flapped his arms. "It must have been him."

"So there you have it, folks," Hogan said over the speakers. "The Reverend Homer Butterfield killed them all to stop them from learning about his sordid past."

"Hallelujah," Kinch said, though he didn't sound convinced.

"That settles it," Klink said with an air of finality. "The Reverend was the killer!"

* * *

The moon hung low in the sky, stretching a silvery glow across the misty moors. An owl on the hunt swept past on silent wings, its lonesome call adding to the eerie chill that blanketed the manor.

But Hogan was not cold, for within his heart burned a passion hot and bright. Waiting for him in the rose-scented garden, in her billowing nightgown, stood Jessica. And he knew that soon their bodies would be intertwined, her hot breath on his neck, as her perfume tickled his nose. He could feel her lips on his ear, like the wispy caress of butterfly wings, as her quivering voice whispered-

"ROLL CALL!"

Hogan started awake and sat up in his bunk. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched before checking his watch. 0200. What was going on?

He saw light stretch out from under the door and heard Schultz rousting men from their beds. "Roll call, roll call," he cried.

Hogan groaned and jumped down from his bunk. Grabbing his jacket he went into the main room. "What's going on, Schultz?" he asked.

"I know nothing," Schultz replied. "I only know that the Kommandantur has ordered a special roll call. Now, everybody, raus, raus, raus."

The men grumbled and groaned, but obediently piled through the door and into the compound. Schultz quickly counted them and fired off a salute to Klink who was waiting rather impatiently on his stoop. "All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant!"

"Prisoners, I suppose you're all wondering why I have ordered this roll call?" Klink said. "Well, it just so happens that the Reverend Homer Butterfield could not _possibly_ have been the murderer!"

A murmur swept through the ranks. "How do you figure, Colonel?" Hogan asked. He wasn't sure what made him angrier- being woken up just for this, or the fact that Klink was shooting down his brilliant solution to the murder.

"Hogan, you might recall, he set sail from Australia and didn't dock at Southampton until two days after the murder," Klink explained.

Hogan wasn't impressed. "Maybe he jumped ship," he said with a shrug.

"And swam the last 500 miles?" This was Kinch, who eyed Hogan with a mixture of scepticism and disgust. "Sorry sir, but I have to go with Klink on this."

" _Thank you_ Sergeant Kinchloe," Klink said smugly. "Schultz, see to it that this man gets an extra slice of white bread."

Kinch arched an eyebrow at the unexpected generosity. "Say, that's fine. I think I ought to agree with Klink more often."

"Sure, so long as you're okay with being a corporal," Hogan groused.

"Never thought I'd see you turn traitor, Kinch," Newkirk tsked. "Shocking."

"Gosh, in a situation like this, I think the real enemy is that missing page," Carter reasoned. "You sure no one has found it?"

"No, and we have looked everywhere," LeBeau reported glumly.

"Maybe it escaped!" Carter said.

"Impossible! Nothing escapes Stalag 13," Hogan replied with a grin.

"And don't you forget it!" Klink cried. "Diiiismissed!"

The men filed back into the barracks. Hogan brought up the rear and once the door closed he fell back against it. He let out a breath and scratched his head. "Well, that's a twist. I hate to say it, but Klink _is_ right: there's no way Reverend Butterfield could have done it."

"Told you," Kinch said with a shrug.

"If you're so smart, then who did do it?" Hogan asked.

Kinch wriggled his nose as he thought. "How about… Avery Updike?"

"The stepson?" Carter asked, eyes wide with surprise.

"I knew he wasn't the loving offspring he claimed to be," Newkirk said.

Kinch smirked at Hogan. "His eyes were too close together."

Hogan rolled his perfectly placed eyes. "Oh that's a good motive."

"It was the will," Kinch explained. "He was going to eliminate everyone that stood between him and the inheritance."

Hogan wasn't sold. "How was he going to kill 35 people?"

"Shucks, that's just a Friday night for us," Carter said. That stopped everyone short and they all squirmed awkwardly. Carter's face went red and he looked down, digging his toe into the floor. "I mean… We're not… We are in a war… And…"

"Never mind, Carter," Hogan said, skirting a line between annoyance and comfort. "I think Kinch is right. Money can make a man do some strange things. Avery Updike it is."

* * *

Hogan checked his watch. "Has Klink left yet?" he asked. Carter, standing at the door, shook his head. Hogan snorted and grabbed his elbows. "What does he think he's doing? He's got a date tonight."

"Maybe he forgot?" LeBeau suggested.

"If you knew what Leisl looked like you know that there's no way that's possible," Hogan said.

"Better get in there, Colonel, and light a fire under him," Kinch said.

"Yeah, okay." Hogan tugged on his hat and slipped out of the barracks, quickly making his way to the kommandant's office. He caught Hilda just as she was leaving for the night. "Is the Kommandant in?" he asked.

"Yes but…" Hilda hesitated.

"What is it, honey?"

"It's just…" Hilda bit her lip and then laughed nervously. "I think the Kommandant needs a vacation."

Hogan's eyebrows went up. What did that mean?

He bid Hilda goodnight and then cautiously opened the door to Klink's office. He wasn't sure what to think of the sight that met him.

Colonel Klink was muttering to himself as he examined a piece of paper tacked to the wall. Several red strings connected that paper to more throughout the room, creating a spider web. Klink tapped the paper and followed one string to another, tapping his chin.

"Uh, Kommandant?"

Klink either didn't hear him, or was ignoring him.

"Lady Penelope," Klink murmured, looking at a page that had several facts about the character scrawled on in Klink's handwriting.

"What's going on here, Kommandant?" Hogan asked, ducking under a mess of string as he came into the room.

"Oh, Hogan. What are you doing here?" Klink asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Hogan replied. "Don't you have a date tonight?"

Klink waved the question off. "Another time, another time. I have more important things to worry about."

" _The Rooster Crowed at Midnight_?"

"What else? And I am not interested in your theories."

Hogan gasped at the slight. "Well!" Klink rolled his eyes and just kept going back and forth between the papers. "It just so happens that Kinch solved it last night."

That piqued Klink's interest. "And?" he asked, giving Hogan his full attention.

"The killer is Avery Updike. He did it for the inheritance," he announced proudly.

Klink scoffed. " _Avery Updike_ was locked in the linen closet with Jessica when Sir Winslow was killed," Klink sneered.

"Oh… Oh yeah." How had Kinch missed that? "Then how about-"

Klink massaged his temples. "Hogan, I don't have time for your inane theories."

Hogan grimaced. "I was _going_ to say, how about you call around to some of the other Stalags. I'm sure there's another copy _somewhere_."

Klink flapped his arms. "I already tried. No one has heard of it. I even tried to contact the author!"

"Abigail Porterfield?! But she lives in _Australia_!"

"Yes. No doubt I'm on some sort of Gestapo list just for making the attempt," Klink said, cringing a little.

"That's it then. We'll never know," Hogan surmised. "Look, forget it. Go on your date."

"No, no," Klink said, shaking his head. "Not until I figure this out."

* * *

Back in the barracks, Hogan was pacing, his arms crossed and his jaw set. Klink, for some reason, had become obsessed with this murder mystery. And until they figured it out, he wasn't going to leave camp. Which meant he wouldn't be meeting up with Leisl. Which meant _they_ couldn't get the information they needed.

"All right fellas, think. We can solve this if we put our heads together."

"Hey, how about the nephew, Randolph," Carter suggested.

Newkirk snapped his fingers and then pointed at Carter. "Smart thinking, mate. He had motive."

"Yeah," Kinch chimed in. "He was in love with Cheever's mistress."

Hogan stopped his pacing. "Oh yeah? But how did Randolph get into the locked library?"

That stumped them. Then Kinch lit up. "Through the secret panel behind the bookcase," he declared.

"C'mon."

"I'm serious," Kinch insisted. "Think about it: Randolph played in Huntley Manor as a child. Therefore if there had been a secret panel in the bookcase, he'd have known about it."

"And there was insanity in the family," LeBeau added.

"I like that part best," Carter said.

"Course you do," Newkirk drawled, rolling his eyes.

"Case closed!" Kinch said brightly.

Hogan shook his head. "No good. It couldn't have been the nephew, Randolph."

"Why not?" Kinch demanded.

"He suffered from vertigo," Hogan explained. "He got dizzy if he stood on his toes. So he never could have climbed out on the roof and dropped the gargoyle on Sir Winslow."

"You know, he's right," Newkirk said glumly.

"Well then how about Lady Penelope? Boy, she was really steamed when Cheevers threw her over for Jessica," Carter said.

"But she suffered from night blindness," LeBeau pointed out. "She never could have found her way through the moors at night."

"Face it, Colonel," Kinch pouted, "we're never going to figure this out."

"Why don't we call London?" Carter suggested. "I'm sure they can find a copy of the book! That way we'll know who the murderer is!"

"Can't use the radio until the Gestapo pulls those trucks out of the area," Hogan reminded him.

"So that's it. C'est finis. We cannot solve the puzzle, and we cannot get the information."

"Now hold it. We're not giving up just like that," Hogan said, furrowing his brow. "There's got to be some way…" He tapped his finger on his elbow as he paced the floor. "We just need to... Ah! Got it!"

"You know who the murderer is?" Carter asked.

"Nope. But we're going to find out!"

"How?" Kinch asked.

"We're throwing a dinner party," Hogan announced. "I'll be back." And with that, he rushed out of the barracks and back over to the Kommandantur. He didn't bother to knock before entering Klink's office.

Klink was now sitting at his desk, pouring over a very thick book. That made Hogan pause.

"What are you reading now, Kommandant?" he asked curiously.

With some effort, Klink held up the gigantic book. "It's a psychology textbook, Hogan. I took it from the rec hall. I'm going to dive inside the mind of everyone at Huntley Manor so I can root out the killer. Now go away, I am busy."

"Say, that's a swell idea, Colonel. And it just goes to show you that great minds think alike."

Klink looked up and tilted his head. "It does? How so?"

"Colonel, I've been thinking. We need to act this whole thing out. We assign everyone a character. They immerse themselves into the part, and then we set the scene and let it play out naturally. If we can observe everyone acting within the logical confines of their characters, maybe we'll see something that we missed in the written word."

Klink's head was bobbing along to the proposed scheme, his jaw slack as he tried to keep up. "Do you really think it will work?" he asked.

"Sure. We just got to make sure we cast everyone as closely to their characters as possible. For instance, Carter would make a perfect Reverend Butterfield."

"But Reverend Butterfield is 90!" Klink protested.

"Yes, but he's also not quite there, is he?"

"That's true," Klink said after a moment of consideration.

"And of course, I would play Randolph, and Hilda would be the perfect Jessica."

"Yes, yes, I can see that."

"Newkirk was born to play Avery Updike. A LeBeau, well of course he has to be the cook."

"And what about me, Hogan? Who would I play?" Klink asked eagerly.

"You? Why Colonel, don't be so modest. It's obvious what part you should play."

"It is?!"

"Of course. You would be the genius detective, Inspector Langley. Who else would have the wit and cunning to unravel this mystery."

Klink grabbed his chin and nodded. "You're right. I _am_ perfect for the part."

"So that's that. We'll play it out and see where it goes."

"Excellent plan, Hogan. We'll do it tomorrow night!"

"Sure thing." Hogan turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks, shaking his finger. "Hold it. We're missing a player."

"Who?" Klink asked.

"Lady Penelope, the woman scorned."

"Oh, yes. Well, I think maybe Corporal Langen-"

"Come on, Colonel, be serious," Hogan interrupted. "We need someone who can truly understand the part."

"Well who do you suggest?" Klink asked.

Hogan blew out a breath, screwing his face in thought as he started to pace. "Aha! I've got it!"

"You have? Who? Who?"

"The woman scorned, of course. Your abandoned date! Leisl Welser."

"Hogan, that's brilliant!" Klink said. "After being stood up twice, she would know exactly how Lady Penelope feels… But… Hogan. What if she is so angry with me that she refuses to come?"

"Come on, Colonel. How could she resist you?" Hogan said.

"You're right. I'll call her first thing in the morning!"


	3. The Solve

It all worked out perfectly. That evening they were no longer in Stalag 13, but rather in the imaginary world of Huntley Manor. The Rec Hall stood in for the rectory; the motor pool for the stables; Klink's quarter's for Jessica's boudoir. The latter being the place where Hogan finally met up with Leisl Welser in secret.

"I confess, this is all quite bizarre," Leisl said after she had handed over the microfilm.

"That's how we do things here," Hogan said with a little grin.

"But tell me, Colonel, who is the murderer?" Leisl asked, having been told all about the mystery before the game began.

Hogan shrugged. "Dunno. But," he added with a mischievous grin as he rested his forehead on hers, "I'm sure if we put our heads together we could-"

He was interrupted when the door opened and Klink marched in. Leisl suddenly gasped and slapped Hogan across the face. "How _dare_ you," she cried in her best approximation of an English accent. "After you left me for that… that tart Jessica, you dare come crawling back to me?!"

"But Jessi- I mean, Penelope!" Hogan pleaded. "Please, give me another chance to prove I love you!"

"How? By murdering someone else?" she asked.

"Murder?! Why, I'd never!" Hogan replied, appalled.

"Well I never want to see you again!" And with that, Leisl stormed out.

Hogan turned to watch her go and acted surprised to see Klink. "Why, Inspector Langley. I'm sorry you had to see that. Lover's quarrel, you know."

Klink sighed and poured himself a glass of schnapps before flopping down on his sofa. "Oh please, Hogan, it is time to drop the act," he said morosely. "I have observed everyone in their character and I have found no further insights. We'll never figure this out." He gulped down his drink. "Abigail Porterfield has written an impossible mystery."

Hogan scratched his head. "So we've ruled out Randolph."

"And Jessica, and Lady Penelope, and Avery Updike, and… oh I don't even remember the rest of them," Klink moaned.

"That only leaves one other person," Hogan concluded after some thought.

"Oh?" Klink asked as he poured himself another drink. "And who is that?"

Hogan tapped his chin and started walking away. Then, suddenly he whirled around. "Inspector George Langley."

At that, Klink's eyes grew wide and he jumped to his feet. "Me?! I mean, Langley? Hogan, what are you saying?! How could that possibly be?"

"It was buried in the story the whole time!" Hogan explained, actually feeling genuine excitement. "Remember when Randolph offered to show him around Huntley Manor, but he already seemed so familiar with it? Remember when he lingered just a little too long near the headstone of Mr. Cheever's murdered father? And that comment Lady Penelope made about Langley not being the genius he claimed to be. And what about when Langley said Cheevers was no innocent? Not to mention the twitching in his eyes."

"Yes, yes, but what does it all mean?" Klink pressed.

"Langley suspected Cheevers of murdering his own father, but when he couldn't prove it all those years ago, his career fizzled. It drove him mad! Mad, I tell you!" Hogan cried. "And so, all those years later he decided that Cheevers had to pay, one way or another and took matters into his own hands!"

" _Donnerwetter_ , you're right!" Klink said in astonishment. "I _did_ do it! I hated Cheevers. I hated them all! I don't even remember their names, but I hated them anyway! But… what about the pigs?"

"You killed them because they were going to squeal!" Hogan replied.

Klink tilted his head as if he didn't quite understand. But then, slowly he said, "And I killed the canary because… it was going to sing? Did I use that right?"

"Exactly right!" Hogan said, feeling an odd sort of pride.

Klink grinned and poured a drink for Hogan. He passed it to him and they clinked their glasses together. "We did it, Hogan! We did it!"

Hogan grinned and patted the microfilm in his pocket. "We certainly did, Colonel. We certainly did."

* * *

Several days later, after the Gestapo radio detection trucks had moved on, everyone was gathered eagerly around Kinch's radio. The sergeant was wearing his headset, nodding along and writing something down on his notepad.

"You're kidding. Really? Are you sure?" he said. Everyone leaned in closer, trying to hear what London was saying. "All right. I guess that's that. Thanks. Papa Bear over and out." Kinch pulled off his headset and leaned back in his seat, blowing out a long breath.

"Well?!" Newkirk demanded.

"Did London get the book?" Carter asked. "Do they know who did it?"

"Who is the murderer, Kinch?" LeBeau asked eagerly.

Kinch looked at all of them, and then started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. It bordered on maniacal. Everyone shared a look.

"Kinch?" Hogan asked hesitantly.

Kinch covered his mouth and shook his head. Finally, he stopped laughing and dragged his hand down his chin. "You're not going to believe this," he said.

"What?! What?!" LeBeau cried.

"Was it Langley?" Hogan asked.

"No, Jessica."

"Butterfield!"

Kinch held up a hand and waited for silence. "London got ahold of the book."

"Yes?" Hogan prompted when he paused.

"It's apparently quite rare."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Because in every copy… the last page is missing."

The room exploded. Everyone was shouting over each other, loudly voicing their disbelief. Again, Kinch held his hand up. "Apparently the publisher misplaced the last few pages. No one noticed until it had already gone to print. And by then, Miss Porterfield had already submitted another manuscript for a new book. So instead of reprinting _The Rooster Crowed at Midnight_ they just published and promoted the new book."

"Greedy twisters," Newkirk growled.

"Well how do you like that?!" Carter cried indignantly. "That's just plain rude!"

"So _no one_ knows who the murderer is?!" Hogan cried.

"I guess Miss Porterfield does," Kinch said with a shrug. "But other than that…"

Hogan frowned and crossed his arms. Then he looked at his watch. "Anyone know what time it is in Australia?"


	4. The Book Redux

**M*A*S*H 4077**

**Somewhere near Uijeongbu, Korea**

**October 26, 1952**

Roy Godman jumped from foot to foot, trying to keep warm in the bitingly cold wind. He didn't know why he didn't just go back to his tent and freeze there. It would have been just as constructive as unloading a supply truck full of things meant for summer: an ice cream churn, salt tablets, mosquito netting, insect repellant. Nothing in the truck was of any use to them.

The officers were standing close by, cursing out the army and trying to figure out just how they could run a hospital without lightbulbs, sutures, bandages, foam gel and other necessities.

But the truck driver wasn't going to leave until the 4077 got the supplies he had brought for them. So, despite the absolute insanity of the whole situation, Goldman waited for his turn to grab a box.

Someone tossed Captain Pierce an empty mailbag. After a snotty remark, he tossed it to Corporal Klinger. It turned out it was not empty at all. It contained a single package for Captain Hunnicutt. Goldman watched with only the mildest interest as the captain tore off the paper.

"It's a book," Hunnicutt said.

"A book?" Pierce repeated. "You mean a real book, between covers, with words and everything?"

Goldman couldn't help but roll his eyes. He liked Captain Pierce- most everyone did. In fact, he kind of reminded Goldman of Colonel Hogan, except more self-righteous. But he would have been very surprised if the Captain could last more than two days in a POW camp.

"I wonder if I still know how to read?" Pierce continued.

"It's a mystery," Hunnicutt said. " _The Rooster Crowed at Midnight_."

It took a second, but once it sunk in, Goldman groaned and smacked his forehead.

"Oh no! Not again!"

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone. This was just a dumb little story that's been nagging me for a bit. I hope you enjoyed it.

A lot of dialogue for the story was pulled from the Season 6 episode of M*A*S*H, _The Light That Failed_. So if something seemed especially clever, it didn't come from me. Probably.


End file.
